


House of Leaves

by quentintarrantino



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quentintarrantino/pseuds/quentintarrantino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel keeps a list. Based off of <a href="http://coffeeandcheesecake.tumblr.com/post/34649089395/companion-piece-to-this-poem">this</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House of Leaves

The list had been made many years ago as reference to help him out when he forgot, as he often did. His charge had been a confusing creature and that list had managed to keep him afloat, but now it was unnecessary. The rain was beginning to sully the ink on the plain piece of paper that was creased and folded so many times it was wearing thin. The angel set his jaw in the familiar fashion and when the wind tugged he found no good reason to continue to hold on to it so with an all too human sigh he let it slide through his fingers. It drifted away and for a moment panic seized him cold and clear, he could catch it if he really wanted to, he knew that but he forced himself to stay rooted to the spot as rain began to weigh it down and only a few feet from him it sank to the ground.

The mud did not exactly help its case and when he made his legs work again he was careful not to step on it. Someone would discover it eventually, they would know that there was a story situated in the tired handwriting, perhaps they would try to piece it together on their own but they would not succeed. As he walked away he began to tick off every item on that piece of paper, soaked and soggy.

1\. Personal space: he is not comfortable with study of the intricacies of his face.

“Cas? Goddammit Cas stop!” it had been a few days locked away in a motel room and Dean had grown restless. He had already snapped enough at his brother to drive him out for some air and now he was trying to chip away at Castiel with no avail, the angel had far more patience than any Winchester sibling.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked, cocking his head. Dean’s eyes narrowed at him from his thick dusty leather bound book.

“Stop fucking staring at me.” The hunter snarked, slouching further into his chair like a pouty child, Castiel was surprised to detect a bit of red tinging his cheeks as if he were self-conscious about something. He stared harder and this earned him a darker glare and more red. How fascinating. “I’m warning you.” The low growl sounded once more. The angel averted his eyes to inspect the stucco of the motel room to comply with his wishes.

Later when he would question Sam about it the younger brother would just laugh and then prod at Dean about him being a shy little schoolgirl until the cranky Winchester punched him in the stomach and Sam collapsed in the parking lot on the asphalt. He added this to a mental checklist of things not to do, staring at Dean. It made him uncomfortable and he was meant to watch over the Winchester, making him uncomfortable wouldn’t help him.

2\. When he laughs at you, don’t take it to heart.

Castiel had yet to understand the strange human celebratory day that was the first of April, but this didn’t stop him from disliking it strongly. He should have sensed something was about to happen when the brothers both covered their mouths to keep their laughs at bay as he sat down on Bobby’s porch. However he overlooked it as simple unexplainable human behavior and was content to watch them for a few moments before concluding this was something between them and perhaps his presence was not wanted, hence the covering of the mouths.

Nodding respectfully he went to stand and his brow creased in confusion at the resistance he was met with that had not been there previously. Sam’s face had turned a strange purplish color as he appeared to no longer be able to contain his glee and he fell, howling off his own chair onto the porch. Castiel was vexed, looking to Dean for an explanation.

“I do not understand.” He told him. This appeared to be too much for the older Winchester because he fell apart at the seams like his younger brother, both of them laughing up a storm, Dean clutching at the porch railing for support. In Castiel’s haste to stand there was a tearing sound as the trenchcoat gave way and he turned to see the back where his rear had rested still fixed firmly in place and then it dawned on him.

They had glued the seat, for their own amusement. He stared at them for a little while longer before he began to feel annoyed, vanishing off somewhere else to go to business for the garrison in a huff. Something prickly inside him had made him not want to come back for a few hours, an alien emotion that he would be able to identify as embarrassment later on in his run with the brothers.

“Ah c’mon Cas take a joke.” Dean had told him with a clap on the back when he reappeared at sunset.

A puzzled glance was all he got in reply.

3\. Don’t insult his car.

It hadn’t been a thought in his head more than a second before it slipped out of his mouth, carelessly. “It’s old.” His tone held a distinct ring of disdain that did not go unnoticed by the hunter who stiffened like a board as he looked up from the knife he had been sharpening, several others laid out in front of him.

“Excuse me?” Dean’s voice had gotten ice cold as his grip tightened on the handle. Castiel looked at him and realized his error too late. The Winchester stood, walking over to the angel where he attempted and failed to hover over him menacingly. “Don’t diss the car.” He told him, jabbing the tip of the knife into his chest. Castiel couldn’t help but notice that it was the very knife Dean had stabbed him with upon their first meeting. “Got it?”

Castiel nodded slightly. “Yes.”

“Good.”

4\. Or his music

“Sammy why don’t you tell Cas the rules of the car.” Dean said, gripping the steering wheel like it was made of gold as they careened down route 66 with the desert speeding by. Sam turned in his seat and looked at the angel with a slightly amused expression.

Castiel did not like that he was puzzled by their erratic behavior so much, the younger brother was much easier to predict than the other and for that he was grateful but even then he found himself unprepared for what was told to him. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

“I don’t have any firearms.” Castiel replied back, mystified.

5\. Or the way he eats.

Dean managed to choke down his fifth turducken burger in the span of an hour and a half and Castiel was monitoring him in case the lining of his stomach tore and he needed to step in. However it didn’t seem the Winchester realized he was only looking out for him because he paused mid-bite and glanced up at the angel and then put the burger down, wiping his mouth. “You got a problem Cas?” he asked, in that tone of voice he used at bars when he wanted to start a fight.

“Your stomach lining might tear.” he told him, because it was a very real possibility. Dean didn’t share the concern as he simply picked up his plate and moved outside to eat in peace. Castiel was beginning to think he should start keeping a list so he was never left in the dust by the sudden mood changes.

6\. When he talks to you about things you don’t understand, don’t ask, just nod.

Dean was passionate about many things, such as cursing and drinking but he enjoyed his car above all things. During the days Sam had been strapped to a rusty stretcher in Bobby’s basement and it had been all the older brother could do to forget he had retreated to the lot and begun to tune and crank away at the Impala and sometimes (not often, but sometimes) Castiel would join him.

The fluid streams of car babble wafted right over the angel’s head, he knew nothing of cars or vehicles of any kind and while it was dawning on him how truly small his knowledge of Dean Winchester was he would nod. Dean didn’t want him to ask what he was talking about, the angel was a substitute for his brother, Sam would know what he meant and might even have something to add to it but Castiel asking what the difference between a radiator and a piston would just shatter the illusion. For now what he needed was someone to talk at and Castiel was content to give it to him. The tension eased out of his shoulders and a bit of a smile went to his face and the angel felt his own lips twitch; Dean held up some poor twisted piece of metal and showed it to him. “See what I mean when I saw this thing could do with some more cleaning?”

Castiel looked at it and all he saw was a heap of oily scrap but since he’d begun keeping his list he had added ‘don’t insult his car’ and this was a very important rule to remember and so he feigned an informed smile and nodded once. Dean beamed in reply, much more at ease than he had been in days and set to work with a new fervor.

7\. Don’t watch him without his knowing.

Castiel knew that Dean had nightmares despite the fact that he masked it very well, it had begun leaving marks on him when the dark circles appeared under his eyes and since then the angel had taken up guard every night to sooth his mind when the bad dreams struck. It wasn’t a hassle at all, in fact Castiel rather liked it, Dean was very peaceful when he slept and he looked completely in harmony with his surroundings.

Castiel simply waited and read his emotions for when the first signs of trouble would begin to surface and then he would slide his finger down his forehead and cut them off before they would even begin. He saw that the Winchester was getting the rest he needed to face the day and all was well.

That was until Dean woke up in the middle of the night to use the restroom and saw the angel standing beside his bed watching him.

Being conditioned from a young age to translate a shadowy figure by your head as a bad sign, Dean did the first thing that came to mind, retrieve the gun from under his pillow and fire. This resulted in Sam thrashing out of bed, standing alert with Ruby’s knife clutched tight in his grip. The blast full of rock salt stung and Castiel wiped the stray bits off his face as the lights flicked on at his command to reveal nothing but the angel standing between two adrenaline fueled men.

“…Cas?” a groggy Sam said hazily, struggling to see against the glare of the light. “Wha…?”

“Godfuckingdammit Cas what the fuck were you doing?” Dean exploded, throwing his gun down on the bed and rubbing his face.

Castiel was confused by this sudden turn around and cocked his head. “I was watching over you.” He told him like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah well can you not right next to my face while I sleep?!” the Winchester snarled, stalking to the bathroom and slamming the door, much to Sam’s irritation as he buried his head in a pillow. From the other side of the door the angel could hear mutters of ‘scared the shit out of me’ and ‘fucking angels’. Castiel decided that would be a good thing to add to the list.

8\. Don’t touch his lips.

Castiel only after his own episode understood why Dean got as drunk as he did on a regular basis. Currently the chilly wind was in danger of knocking the Winchester over as he struggled to walk straight, his cheeks a rosy red and his head thrown back in laughter at nothing in particular. His words were slurred and after a few unsuccessful feet he just slumped against the angel for support. Castiel would’ve simply teleported them to the motel room but Dean had insisted on enjoying the night air, it was twenty seven degrees outside.

“I’ll tell ya Cassie isn’t this greaaat?” Dean cooed from beside him. “’ttttsss almossst chrissmass.” His eyes were bright with childlike wonder and it pained Castiel that that look was only present on Dean’s face when he was intoxicated.

“Yes it is almost Christmas.” The angel agreed, steadying the Winchester a bit before continuing on the walk, pedestrians were giving them strange looks and Castiel could only nod to them politely as Dean shouted insults at them as they passed (“Whaaat the fuck are you lookin’ at?!?”).

The snow was beginning to fall in thicker clumps and while Castiel felt no cold he was concerned for Dean, they paused at a street corner where the Winchester pushed away from the angel and settled against the streetlamp. A fat flake dropped on Dean’s forehead and Castiel wiped it away, the other man hiccupped and paid no attention. His skin felt like ice.

People were shuffling by in an effort to find shelter from the cold but the two remained stationary, staring at each other. It occurred to the angel that maybe Dean was trying to mock him by mirroring the intensity and when he eased up his features the scrutiny continued. Flakes were coating the Winchesters and several clumped together on the delicate curve of his upper lip, reaching out slowly Castiel stroked his thumb over it, letting it melt against his sin. Green met blue and the two stared, their breath leaving in huge clouds.

“Get a room!” someone shouted from across the street and the spell was broken. Dean appeared to see themselves from an outsider’s perspective and he jerked away, nearly falling over in the process, slapping Castiel’s hand away from his face.

“Don’t…. fucking touch me.” He spat, lurching forward and away into the shadows, leaving Castiel alone on the sidewalk with a little pinprick of water on the tip of his thumb.

9\. Don’t touch the lines beside his eyes (note: knowledge not gained from personal experience, merely based on observed behavior).

Castiel wasn’t in the motel room but that didn’t mean he saw what was going on. It sat wrong with him, but he didn’t understand why. Dean’s womanizing hadn’t affected him before but now all of a sudden he was finding issue with his ways.

Sam was awkwardly slouched in the driver’s side of the Impala, rattling his fingers against the steering wheel, trying to look anywhere but at the angel and Castiel was too preoccupied extending his senses to get a play-by-play of Dean’s encounter with the woman from the bar to care much. With his ears tuned in on that too-warm room he heard every rustle of fabric and every little sigh and moan and it made something hot and spiteful curl in Castiel’s stomach.

He felt jealousy.

It was not a gentle or tender action between the two of them; Dean held no patience for sentiment at this time of night it would seem. Her clothes were stripped from her body and she was turned over onto her stomach, still despite his obvious disregard for her she seemed to be enjoying herself and the angel despised her for it. Sam suggested they go get something to eat, bribing him with White Castle and he shook his head, motioning for the younger Winchester to be quiet.

It was over by now, it hadn’t lasted more than twenty minutes, she was getting dressed again. He was in the bed and she was speaking. Asking he call her sometime, the responding snort suggested Dean would in fact not be calling her. The woman was persistent, she was touching him, her hand trailed over his face and he caught her hand, the tone of his voice was soured. “I think you should go.”

It was something for the list in case he forgot.

10\. Don’t read his mind.

Castiel did not entirely understand why he had wrote this one down, since he could not actually read minds. An angel did not possess telepathic abilities but for some reason Dean was convinced he and his brothers were able and willing to rifle through his thoughts on any given day.

Angels could feel emotions, their senses picked them up as readily as a human could sense touch and taste. If one grew keen enough at it and they would know what feelings were associated with whom and what they were thinking about judging by their moods. Castiel couldn’t turn it off, just the same as Dean couldn’t turn off his sense of smell. However he could hide it from them, keep his observations to himself. With his prolonged exposure to the brothers he could read them like books, each feeling was unique to them like a fingerprint and Castiel was very good at sorting through them, drawing accurate conclusions on what they were thinking.

Before venturing to Earth and meeting the Winchesters Castiel would’ve told you there was only one way to feel pain, it was sharp and it hurt and prior to human interaction he had only ever picked it up in one way. After spending time with Dean and Sam Castiel could now tell you there were so many more. The slow burn of agony when Dean thought about his mother and father and the fact that they were dead, the white hot rage at the thought of Sam being injured, the razor thin but echoing stab at his own physical hurt. Sam had his own as well, and they didn’t go quite as deep. Dean held onto things longer than he should’ve and every emotion the Winchesters felt Castiel felt too.

Over time new pains and loves and joys were known to him and his brothers worried he was becoming too human, being exposed to emotion in such raw and overwhelming forms. Castiel was fascinated by them however and he became aware everytime a new one presented itself.

The day Dean told him to stop was when Castiel had been standing a ways away from them as the boys were making a rest stop to stretch their legs, Dean was reading a map and he experienced a feeling that was so very Dean, but unfamiliar. It was hollow, not entirely there; it was the anticipation of pain. Like the way one would brace themselves before being punched, the calm before the storm.

Castiel had nothing to associate this feeling with, turning his head he saw that Dean was watching him, an odd expression on his face and he grew aware that Dean was feeling this way about the angel. Embarrassment clouded over the pain momentarily and then turned to a feeling of indignity. Castiel realized he had given himself away and before he could speak the Winchester had turned himself away and was busying himself with the map.

That anticipation of hurt would only grow stronger in time much to Castiel’s bewilderment.

11\. Don’t mention his mother, his father, or God. Especially God.

The Winchesters were unique in their tragedies. Many people before had lost their parents, and many after would lose their parents but none had lost them to those circumstances and certainly had never gone through what those two boys had. Castiel commended them on their strength and often had to remind himself that they were only human. They were as much a whole as they were two separate people and long after they died hunters would be telling their children about ‘Sam and Dean’.

They had been wounded many times and had lost many people, the angels and demons alike rubbing salt in the wounds and reminding them of what they had done. Yet still they persisted, just two boys from Kansas attempting to find peace somewhere along the way.

This should’ve been put on the list a long time ago, it was the unspoken rule between Castiel and the Winchesters, the things you just didn’t talk about. Only once or twice had the angel gotten any kind of explanations regarding John and Mary Winchester, and on both accounts it had been by Sam. The younger of the brothers had told him all about John, how fiercely loyal he was and he tried to raise them the best way that he knew how. Sam would sit outside with Castiel on the hood of the Impala when Dean was having relations with a girl in the motel room, or when they were eating dinner and the older brother had gone off to hustle pool for gas money, and he would tell him about Mary, how kind she had been and how he didn’t remember anything about her. He had a photo tucked away in his suitcase of his mother holding a five month old version of him, her smile bright and beautiful.

Castiel in turn had told him all about God, about how he had left he and his brothers to figure out this scary world full of humans and sin all by themselves. He told Sam about the wars he fought against Hell, he told him about the first time he saw Dean, and pulling him out on an absent father’s command. He talked longer than he could remember talking in years and whenever Dean came back he would look disgusted with Sam, as if he knew what they had been discussing and that the very thought of his brother so freely dishing out information, if even to Castiel, was dishonorable. To have God mixed in with their names was like desecrating their memories.

“God isn’t here Castiel. He wasn’t here for Sammy when jumped into the pit, he wasn’t there for me when I needed him. He wasn’t even there for you, was he?” Dean had told him, an anger reserved only for Castiel’s Father burning hotter than hell itself.

It was the last time the angel ever spoke to Sam about John and Mary Winchester and it was the last time he ever brought up God to Dean.

12\. Control yourself

This one was added to the list more for Dean’s sake than anything else, the mantra ‘only human’ was something that the angel had continually been chanting nowadays. Dean Winchester was only human, he knows not what he does.

Only human.

It seems that Castiel was only human as well, for all the good heavenly patience did when Dean continued to hurl insults at him, to whine like an insolent child that the angel was never there when needed, to complain about the circumstances he was lifted from hell on. His anger was not fueled by irritation though, it was fueled by hurt. For all Castiel could do, to rebel for him was seemingly not enough, the Winchester wanted every bit of him and Castiel could not give it to him. When Dean would snap and snarl that Sam was not well and that it was the angel’s fault, he lost it. He did not stop until he was reminded by just how fragile Dean’s body was, he had felt bones bend under his fists as he resisted the urge to hurl insults back.

With a heaving chest he looked at the Winchester’s bloodied face and only then did he realize the error of his ways, still this did not sate the damage. “I’ve done all this, for you.” His voice made Dean flinch. The incident remained isolated and the next day he put it on the list because he needed to remind himself that Dean did not understand, he could not understand, what Castiel had given up for him and his brother. The Winchester could not shoulder such a heavy burden, he held so much on his back already.

13\. What’s so important about him? Why is he so important to you? CONTROL YOURSELF

This was apparently needed for emphasis because when Dean wasn’t getting on his nerves he was pressing a whole other set of buttons. Castiel knew he had spent too much time among the humans when he began to notice these things about the Winchester that he hadn’t previously.

The color of his eyes for one, the way they glowed when he was happy. The real kind, not the fake glee from when he had had too many shots of whiskey. The type that made Sam laugh along and Castiel smiled at him and he would pull on the angel’s tie good-humoredly and the three would have a few moments out of their black lives to themselves.

The subtle curve of his jawline, the way he angled it when he was being stubborn. How he would butt heads with virtually anything with a pulse, just to cause trouble. Or perhaps the way it moved when he was trying to smooth talk his way down to a reduced room for the night at one of the tacky motels.

Castiel found that once he noticed these things he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He saw every line, every smile and glance in a magnified light. The desire to touch and feel, to partake in human intimacies began to press at him like a boot on his throat, suffocating. It was added to the list in different wording but he stared at it for a few moments before crossing out and just rewriting the above bullet point in bigger letters.

14\. Reminder: It’s alright if he hates you as long as you can still keep him safe.

This one had been written for Castiel’s comfort. Since becoming more aware of Dean he had been making poor decisions. His urgent need to still be near the Winchester was sullying his vision and he had almost gotten the brothers hurt. His increasing involvement with demons and the deals he was making were for the better and it was a sad night when he realized he wouldn’t be able to have both. It was either being with them and watching them die or keeping them safe and dealing with their hatred.

It was hard at first, watching Dean’s face go stony whenever he showed up, the way he pulled away. Sam seemed to understand and Castiel was grateful to him for it but it was Dean’s laugh he longed to hear, to have him look the angel in the eye like old times but it seemed nothing but resentment was harbored for him anymore. Angels could not cry but for the first time Castiel wished he was able.

15\. Every time he smiles at you, it’s worth it.

The list of things Castiel would not do to ensure Dean Winchester spent one more moment on this Earth breathing was frighteningly short. The angel had rebelled, lost his place in heaven, killed his brothers, and in hindsight he probably would’ve done it again. For him. For the man who felt pain when he looked at him, for the man who had such pretty eyes when he laughed.

Castiel had not heart, had no soul, he would’ve thought he could not feel love, until Dean Winchester.

16\. Every time he touches you, it’s worth it.

Castiel occasionally did not follow his own rules. He did in fact read Dean’s emotions from time to time, but not often anymore. He had become so accustomed to ignoring it his ability to feel moods had been dampened effectively to nothing. However whenever their skin collided Castiel clung to Dean’s feelings like a drowning man to a life preserver. It was confirmation that every single damning act had not been in vain.

The way his fingers trailed just a little more than necessary, the lone smile reserved specifically for him, that hollow pain was filling with something, like a brittle outer shell there was something warm just below the surface. It was worth it, he had betrayed everything he ever knew to be true for Dean Winchester, and it was all worth it.

17\. Don’t touch him.

This was added after deciding that it was best not to overindulge in this feeling, that he was leeching quite unhealthily off of Dean’s feelings. They had been tracking a demon across Colorado when it had turned on them and they had captured it.

“Look at you angel.” It had crowed with joy. “Look at how far you’ve fallen, Lucifer himself could not have done it better. You’ve turned into a parasite.” The exorcism was shortly afterwards but the demon’s words echoed firmly in his head and Dean did not meet his eyes which told him a horrible truth indeed.

18\. Don’t tell him.

The angel who fell from heaven and then fell in love with a human. It was his title now, every demon and angel knew his name if they didn’t already. Castiel was lost the moment he laid a hand on Dean in hell and it was even worse that he was okay with that.

19\. Don’t tell him.

What was there to tell? Castiel wanted to add so much more to his list but he found he could not, it all kept coming back to this. They went on their hunts, they stayed in their motels, they did all the things they’d done since the very beginning but it was different. Things had gotten so complicated now and going back to square one was impossible. Castiel felt so very tired of the way the circles went round and round. All he wanted was so close and yet so far and he was in a constant battle with everything around him to ensure that both the Winchesters remained unharmed. However it became increasingly apparent that it if they were to remain alive it would be time to say good-bye.

20\. Don’t tell him.

Dean’s warmth was leaking out with the last of his blood. He had prayed and Castiel had come. How many times had the angel wondered what the Winchester’s body would feel like pressed against him, with his hands tangled in his hair like this? It was all wrong, he had finally gotten his wish but at what cost? With eyes heavenward Castiel spoke to his Father for the first time in years. “What more do you want from me?” his words were low and broken, just like him.

What was there left to give? He had no soul to bargain for Dean’s life, the fingers of the man he loved were dug into his trenchcoat and he had a smile on his face that told Castiel that he really didn’t know Dean as well as he thought he did after all, that after all this time he knew something that the angel didn’t. A practical joke and it was all on him. Blood and dirt mixed together made the ugliest mud, the rain matted the Winchester’s hair down and it was all Castiel could do to keep it out of his face.

“Pray for me Cas?” he said with that glint in his eye, the coy smirk. His eyes burned bright and greener than they ever had before for one moment longer and then like a star’s death they went dull.

 

 


End file.
